BOOT KĀMP

By Armand Thomas, KĀ Stage Manager

He was the Blind Sage, and he never saw it coming.

Eyes swelled, jaws dropped and a hush fell over the room when the cast of KĀ assembled in mid-October to learn what no one suspected: Momar Talla N'Diaye, the Blind Sage, was cut from the show.

The role was prominent at first, then became secondary and, finally, scratched out.

Such is the harsh reality of the creation process; the Blind Sage simply didn't fit into the storyline any more, and this startling change in the cast caused the inevitable sorrow of a death in the family.

Talla was a good guy, a lanky 52-year-old Senegalese actor who carried himself with a dignity be-fitting his stage character. He was generous, gracious and passionate; but he had also become expendable; building a show is part construction, part deconstruction. You start with a big, raw block of an idea and slowly chip away at it until the form assumes the shape imagined - or at least some semblance of it. Every show grows organically, sometimes sprouting in unexpected directions, most times pruned by compromises, be they technical or lyrical.

Talla was not the first to go. During the summer months, a couple of musicians were let go following a change in musical direction; again, nothing personal, nothing done wrong. Still earlier, an acrobat had decided to leave of his own accord; he was able, but not happy - his stars were not aligned for the project. Cirque sets the bar high and all performers are fully aware of the risks involved in participating in the venture. You put your talents on the line and hope they survive the natural evolution of change. Sure, there is something mystical, even celestial in creating this art-work, but it's also very Darwinian - the law of the jungle prevails.

Every show creation has its shares of cuts, but the KĀ cast has remained relatively unscathed - a remarkable feat considering the amplitude of the project.

For nearly one year, the artists have gone through myriad emotions and untold hours of work. Sure, most are young and nimble, but the load has been tremendous, especially for those that were also being molded from being acrobats into artists. Last winter, they began training at the Cirque studios in Montreal on prototype equipment and provisional stages; they buffed their bodies and fortified their minds for the long haul - advancing ideas they could not yet understand, playing pivotal roles in developing acts destined to be their livelihood. At first, it's all technical and blocking, rough sketches in broad brush strokes; with time comes the artistry, the choreography, the ease of routine. Artists reach a comfort zone for interpretation only when the mind can trust the body, and this takes not only time, but given the challenges of the KĀ theatre, loads of courage. A test of will must be passed before their physical feats can appear beautifully effortless.

Early in show creation, a sense of competition develops among the performers: faster, higher, stronger and all that stuff. As nearly the entire KĀ cast is new to Cirque, it was a little while before such clichés could be dispelled. Yes, Cirque leans on physical prowess, but never without grittiness and soul. This is acquired over the long months of preparation and rehearsals, when a profound sense of unity and respect develops a strong cast.

Looking back at the hectic months of the KĀ creation, it might feel as though we've been through boot camp: the once gung-ho kids too giddy to understand the challenge ahead have, in large part, turned into bona fide artists set to conquer the masses. Along the way, the loss of comrades has been both sobering and predictable - casualties of the metaphorical war as we stormed the beach-head that was opening night.

But now that sold-out performances have begun in front awe-struck audiences, and the magnitude of the project has hit both home and away, a greater sense of unity and accomplishment among the artists will help salve the scars acquired along this incredible journey.